The Messenger's Diary
by jedimattk
Summary: The Dark Brotherhood is operating in Bruma, using the unflappable Khajit priestess Toffi as their Hand. Caught in a web of deceit and betrayal, Toffi is forced to steal, kill, and run for the Brotherhood in exchange for her very life.


I don't own the Elder Scrolls series. If I did, I'd be a contracted writer for Bethesda instead of a cheap freelancer whiling away his time with fanfiction. Recognize~

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The flagstone floor was cold beneath her feet, even through the layers of dark fur. Every slight sound seemed to be magnified a thousand times: the quiet rasp of her robe against the floor, her muffled footsteps, the stifled cough of a guard passing far too close for comfort. She breathed out slowly, pressing her body as far back into the shadow of a pillar as she could. If she weren't careful, she would wake the whole castle.

It was critical to get in and out as quickly as possible. The longer she lingered, the greater her chance of capture. The Imperial Legionnaires would ask awkward questions, questions for which she had no plausible answers, questions for which she would be imprisoned for years. If her client didn't get to her first.

"Akatosh protect me," she whispered, reaching into the folds of her robe. The client had given her three things: a long, expensive looking dagger wrapped in velvet; the promise of 7500 septims if she survived; and the threat of exposing her treachery if she refused.

Toffi wasn't a traitor – or hadn't been, at any rate, although her actions tonight almost certainly qualified – but nobody would care. The client looked like a man with connections. A whispered word from him could have in a Legion cell; a few septims slipped into the right hands could have her tortured and executed in the glorious name of the Empire.

He was pressured for time, or so he said. He had no time to send for a professional. Why he selected her life to ruin was a mystery -probably that legendary Khajit reputation for stealth and agility. He'd come after her with bait and switch and she'd gone along with it because – ashamed as she was to admit it - her fear in these troubled times exceeded even her faith in the Nine.

And so here she was, a Khajit priestess turned thief, slinking through the halls of the Great Castle of Bruma, and she felt her fingers wrap around the ornate handle of the dagger seemingly of their own accord, and she saw the oblivious guard padding down the hall a mere half meter from her.

A rustle of velvet; a flash of gold; a dribble of blood from the guardsmen's neck. He collapsed heavily to the floor without a cry.

_Priestess turned thief _and_ murderer, _she thought grimly. But it couldn't be helped. She rewrapped the dagger in its sheath and crept swiftly down the hall, to the dais with the Countess' throne and the prized display cases.

This would be the really difficult part. The dais was constantly, evenly lit, so any passing guards would see her plainly as she worked. On the flipside, she could invoke Akatosh to shadow the dais, but that could put the guards on alert. Everything about this job was going wrong.

Toffi edged around the dais in a tense crouch, trying to size up the angles. _Every second I spend just standing here is moment wasted_, she told herself finally_, _and crept upthe shallow steps, ducking quickly behind the throne.

The display case was practically at head level. It was unbearably fancy – expensive imported wood, silk and brocade lining, a well preserved old book beneath the spotless glass – and locked with a padlock as big as her hand.

Her heart sank. She slid a set of lockpicks out of her robe, already realizing that it was hopeless. The lock was well made, too heavy to break and too complex to pick. She tried anyway – if she was to leave with blood on her hands and no book in her robe, the client would skin her alive.

Her thoughts were wandering. She pushed slightly too far and the pick snapped in half. Swearing gently ("By the nine!"), she slid another pick out of the set and went to work again.

"Stop!" an authoritative voice shouted, and Toffi turned, startled, to see a fully armored guard bearing down on her. How anyone, let alone a Bretton, could creep about in full armor was beyond her – yet here he was, mere meters from the dais and moving forward at a pace just short of a full run.

She reacted instinctively, leaping to her feet and vaulting over the Countess' throne; halfway through the fluid motion she tucked her limbs up against her torso and somersaulted down the steps, coming back up and breaking into a run, already halfway done the hall.

Behind her, there was crash, followed by the harsh sound of shattering glass and a string of fluent cursing. She froze momentarily. _The display case – that idiot guard must have knocked into it and broken the glass._

Half the castle was undoubtedly awake by now, but that book was worth the risk. Pulling her cowl down low in the hopes that she would not be recognized, Toffi whirled and sprinted back to the dais.

The guard was sprawled flat on the ground, just struggling back to his feet. Toffi grabbed the book from amongst the glass shards, ignoring the guard's shouts and others answering it nearby; she turned and ran the full length of the hall, through the great doors, and disappeared into the night.


End file.
